Before Russ Meyer brought the world his own euphoric brand
of movie-making known as "Bosomania," he would occasionally
crank out cheap costume comedies overseas. Such is the case
with this recent paragon release, Fanny Hill. Meyer
himself claims to have served only as a hired hand on this
European production produced by noted schlockmeister Albert
(High School Confidential) Zugsmith. But while this
time-worm tale about the renowned lady of promiscuity proves
tepid at best, it's still important to see simply because
Meyer was involved with it.

Made in 1964, this black-and-white production takes place
during the 1700's in a small village near Liverpool, England.
Fanny Hill, played by the fetching Letitia Roma, is a
naïve young woman – amply endowed, - who finds
herself looking for lodging at the village employment office.
The proprietor, Mrs. Snow (sporting more than a hint of a
moustache), finds the young wench a perfect occupation as
part of a stable of prostitutes looked after by Mrs. Brown
(Miriam Hopkins).

At first, Fanny is confused by the surroundings. Bumbling
patrons like Dingelspear and Mr. Norbert can't understand why
the lovely girls is reluctant to have a go at it. Even Mrs.
Brown entertains callers in the parlor. Is Fanny frigid?

No, not quite. One rainy night, Fanny meets a young mane
named Charles. They have a roll in a haystack, and Fanny is
swept off her feet. She decides to save herself for him. And
in the film's finale, as Fanny is about to marry a man she
really doesn’t love, Charles returns to save the day in
true Graduate fashion.

Few sexual sparks fly in this film. The sexiest scenes
feature women with barebacks and in tight low-cut blouses.
Undoubtedly, if the film was released today it would be raged
PG. There is little evidence that suggest Russ Meyer directed
this project. His trademarks, like ultra-Macho male
characters, cartoonish humor and lightning quick editing
style, are strikingly absent. Even what passes for humor here
– speeded up chandelier-swinging antics and men's wigs
going up in flames – are decidedly off the mark.

Still, those interested in the roots of one of America's
premier satirists of sex should take a look at Fanny
Hill. Mountain-climbers have to tackle small, obscure
peaks before they reach Mr. Everest. The same is true of
filmmakers.